Fire and Ice
by ElphabaAngelofMusic
Summary: 'He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night, and the storm in the heart of the sun.' They're polar opposites. From the day they meet, there is conflict. Every year, their tributes die. Haymitch drinks. Effie cries. In public, she paints on a smile and pretends that she loves the Games as much as she used to. Then Katniss and Peeta come along. And everything changes.
1. Introductions

**I didn't like the first chapter so I re-edited it. Hope you enjoy! :)**

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She remembered the first time she met him. For all the wrong reasons, of course. That was hardly surprising considering he spent ninety percent of his time drunk. Although, their introduction was one of the few occasions that alcohol couldn't be blamed.

They had met inside the Justice building. It was the fifty-fifth Hunger Games.

She had finally landed her dream job as an escort. It might have been for District Twelve, but with time, she hoped to work her way up to one of the better districts. Effie was nothing if not a perfectionist. She accepted the poor reception she'd received with a bright smile.

Of course she already knew of Haymitch. She had watched him in the Quarter Quell. She had cheered him on and had even managed to convince her mother to sponsor him. You had to be over sixteen to sponsor and she had only been eleven. Though her mother hadn't been pleased. She'd tutted and grumbled that Effie always favoured the 'controversial types'.

And then Effie had jumped for joy when he was finally crowned victor of the fiftieth Hunger Games.

She had briefly followed news of him since. He seemed rather popular with those of the opposite sex. Almost every year she read about a new fling he was supposedly having during mentoring in the capital. There had been rumours within her circle of friends that he was quite the brute these days. She didn't believe that. He was smart in his games. He had shown intuitive in teaming up with Maysilee. Up until then, tributes from the same district had kept a distance from each other.

In his interviews, he had been effortlessly charming and confident. Effie could appreciate that. You had to exhume an air of confidence if you wished to do well. It was something her mother had droned into her from an early age. Besides, people didn't change that much after becoming a victor. Right?

She was finally being given the opportunity to meet him. To work with him.

But that _definitely_ wasn't the reason for her wearing her favourite blue dress.

The latest Capital fashion craze was rockabilly. Her dress was cobalt blue, with dark blue spikes. It was a little short but she pulled it off with a pair of fishnet tights, white fur coat and bright red heels to match the wig she was wearing. It was shoulder-length, with victory rolls pinned up on either side. Her make-up was done to perfection. She had crafted her skills by the age of fifteen. She had on bright red lipstick, left her pale skin natural, added a touch of mascara, and the flick of an eye-liner.

She fingered a victory roll delicately, making sure it was still in place, before she begun to strut towards where the familiar figure stood. She recognized his dirty blonde hair from the back.

She cleared her throat delicately. It was rude to tap someone on the shoulder.

He looked mildly irritated as he turned round. But his grey eyes took her breath away as they trailed over her, taking her in slowly.

"You must be Haymitch Abernathy." She said carefully. She didn't want to come off as sounding like one of those intense hunger games fans after all.

"That I am. And who would you be sweetheart?" He drawled, curiosity in his eyes as he took a moment to glance her over again.

She shivered at his endearment. It certainly sounded…appealing. Perhaps it was just the way _he_ said it.

She offered him her most charming smile. "Effie Trinket. I'm the new escort for District Twelve. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Of course, I remember you from your year in the games. You were certainly memorable and of course, brilliant to—"

"Oh joy."

She stopped, surprised at his interruption when she had been so complimentary, but he continued too quickly.

"So basically, I have to work with yet another Hunger Games fanatic. Well isn't that just great?"

She was thrown by his tone. So thrown that for once in her life, she couldn't think of a smooth response.

"Well…I…I wouldn't call myself a fanatic exactly—"

"Oh really? And what would you call yourself, sweetheart?"

He was being rude. And he sounded arrogant. Rather than the charming tone he used for the interviews during his games. He even had the gall to smirk at her. She finally mustered up enough sense to respond. She _had_ been looking forward to meeting him, but she had no time for someone with such a lack of decent manners.

She stepped back a little and raised her head to reply in a firm manner. "My name would be a start, _sweetheart_."

He almost looked surprised. So he should be. Effie was more than just a pretty face. And she certainly didn't appreciate being treated as such.

"I'm not sure how relaxed the other escorts were that you were _forced_ to work with, but let me make it clear that I have no time for such poor manners. You can expect that things will be different with me as District Twelve's escort."

He looked amused. But she didn't give him a chance to respond. Instead, she forced a polite smile and said; "If you'll excuse me, I have my first reaping to present."

She glanced at her watch, and breathed a relieved sigh. "And thankfully, it's right on schedule."

Then she tottered off towards the two peacekeepers guarding the main door and nodded, letting them know that she was ready to go outside. It was time for the Hunger Games to begin.

Haymitch watched her for another moment before he followed, both in amusement and dread. All three escorts he'd worked with before had despaired him enough to never bother with him. he had a feeling that Trinket had been right about one thing. She was going to be different, alright.

XXX


	2. The Sixty Fourth Hunger Games

Effie was ashamed to say that she could no longer remember the names of the tributes from that year. both had never made it past the Cornucopia.

Haymitch has exhausted his efforts to only refilling his glass with more whiskey when necessary.

He didn't even try to get to know their tributes. It was as though he expected them to die. Most of the time, he was too drunk to focus on the sound of his own name, let alone coach two young people.

It frustrated Effie, to say the least. He ignored every attempt to include him.

It was as though he went out of his way to aggravate her. She was a natural perfectionist. She did everything by her schedule to make sure things ran smoothly. He rebelled against it at every opportunity.

During her second games as escort, the train had left District Twelve a few minutes later than scheduled. Haymitch had all but dragged his feet, making sure he was the last one on the train. Effie had even tried to bribe him with more whiskey just to get him on board quicker. It hadn't worked. It seemed that he enjoyed toying with her more than his drink. If that was even possible.

There was barely a day that they wasn't at each other's throats, to the point that he acted more of a child than the tributes themselves. He embarrassed her too. That was one thing she couldn't bear. She was there to try and further her career after all. Most days he was doing something mortifying. Whether that be singing badly at the top of his lungs after the tributes parade. Effie had all but had to drag him back to their penthouse and apologize profusely to almost everyone, all of which were openly gaping.

Then she'd stupidly asked for his support at the sponsoring meeting that only she usually attended. He'd turned up drunk. And had proceeded in wrapping an arm around her neck and planting a kiss on her cheek in front of very important people. She'd never been so angry.

She had not signed up to have to deal with him. And yet, this continued for years. Effie tried not to let _his_ behaviour reflect badly on her.

She did her best. But it wasn't enough. Not only were their tributes almost always too young, small and weak, but they didn't stand a chance with Haymitch as their mentor. If he made the effort to remain sober enough to help them, to at least guide them into the games, then perhaps things would finally be different. Instead, it felt like they were constantly waving them off to their deaths.

Effie rarely watched the games after her tributes dies. That had been a first for her. But any hope that she would find a new victor in District Twelve diminished more and more with every year.

It was as though Haymitch had given up on everything. Everything besides drink, of course. After a few years, she almost felt like joining him. But she couldn't. Somebody had to remain positive, for the children at least.

Brooke and Troy seemed like a turning point. It was the sixty-fourth hunger games.

Brooke had been fifteen. She had been stronger than the rest, a survivor. She was an only child which meant she was naturally independent. She was more level-headed than any tribute Effie had met yet. It served her well in interviews. She oozed confidence and Caesar Flickerman lapped it up. The audience had even seemed rather impressed.

Brooke even showed a sense of kindness in training, helping and guiding Troy, who was shyer than her. He was weaker too. His only strength had been that he was a fast runner.

But together, they made quite the team. Effie had been fonder of them than any tribute before.

Brooke was polite, even when her table manners had been a little lacking. Though she at least didn't eat as awfully as Haymitch. That was another thing he did just to annoy Effie.

Although shy, Troy was charismatic and likeable. It was understandable to see the two grow close.

Effie did her best to help them. She had even managed to convince Haymitch to finally take an interest. It hadn't lasted more than a couple of days, but it had provided Effie with a confidence she had never had before.

"Stay alive. And away from the Cornucopia."

That had been the only advice that Haymitch had given, but both had seemed to take it on board. Effie breathed a sigh of relief when they ran in the opposite direction of the Cornucopia as fast as they could. They had listened.

She spent nearly all of her time during the games drumming up as many sponsors as possible. But Troy's anxiety had shown through his interview. And like the other tributes, they had realised that Troy was an easy target. Brooke's decision to team up with him made her weak, or at least in their opinion it did.

They smiled in apology, even had the nerve to say; "perhaps if Brooke changes her strategy, we can talk again."

In other words, they would only sponsor if Brooke discarded Troy like an unwanted toy. And even then, it didn't sound like a cert.

Effie was beyond frustrated. An exhausted. She had barely slept a wink since the start of the games.

That night, she had returned to an empty penthouse and turned on the television to find both tributes dead. They had spent all day perched on branches until everyone else had disappeared, then they had sneaked down to try and find food. Troy had had a knife thrown to his heart by a tribute from District Four. Brooke had been devastated, distracted. She was killed hours after, an arrow to her heart.

Effie had cried for hours. She was devastated. She had done all she could to help them and in the end, it hadn't been enough. She felt so helpless.

When she slept, she kept picturing their deaths. The look on their faces as they were hit, their eyes glassy, their skin pale. She imagined the looks of disappointments on their families face when she returned to Twelve the following year. Then she dreamt of her tributes again, coming to her in the night, still injured, telling her it was _her_ fault. That she didn't do enough.

The sob got caught in her throat as she jumped up in bed, her hair slick against her neck. Then she noticed the light from the lounge was still on. It was after three in the morning. He had to be back by now.

She pulled her hair up, out of her way, and under her wig. The only people who had seen her without it were her family and a couple of her friends. Haymitch was the last person she wanted seeing her without. She could bet her life on it that he was in the lounge, drinking himself into another stupor. The very thought made her angry.

Haymitch didn't so much as blink as she stormed out of her bedroom. He was slouched against the curved sofa, feet on the table as always. She couldn't remember how many times she had moaned at him about that. He had grumbled and told her to 'loosen her corset for once' and it would infuriate her enough to reiterate. The two would start bickering until one of them stormed off to their bedroom, slamming the door behind them. It was usually Haymitch, a bottle of whiskey in his hands. He was drinking from the bottle again now.

"Do you wear that thing to bed or something?" He grumbled, before taking another large swig of his whiskey. It was already empty.

"No actually, I don't. Although anyone would think that you sleep with a bottle, it's so rare that you're without one."

He shrugged, though he still wasn't looking at her. "Well last time I checked sweetheart, I no longer have a reason to remain sober."

She snorted as she watched him rise from the sofa. She was about to ask whether he'd been sober to begin with. He might not have been drinking half as much as he usually had, but she had definitely still seen him with a drink this year. But he beat her to it.

"I can't tell you what a relief that is. They don't normally last so long."

She had been so shocked by his tone that it had taken a couple of minutes to respond. There was no fight. No anger. Nothing.

Instead, he headed over to the table in the corner to go and get himself another drink.

Effie snapped. She stomped forwards. Effie Trinket didn't stomp. At least she hadn't done since she had been a child. But she made an exception on this occasion.

"I don't think so, Haymitch Abernathy!"

She wasn't sure what had made her do it, but she reached for the bottle before he could. He didn't exactly have a steady hand these days. And then she found herself throwing it against the wall.

The silence had seemed deafening in contrast to the sound of glass smashing and she'd tensed instinctively, awaiting his reaction.

Not that she regretted it. She didn't think he deserved another drink in his life. She expected his rage. A part of her probably even wanted it. Because at least it was some kind of emotion. He bottled things up way too much and nothing angered Effie more. She wasn't built to do that. She was too emotionally involved in the Games, she always had been.

He had avoided her at first. He shouted, throwing things across the room, anything that he could get his hands on. Until eventually, the penthouse was completely ruined. He had ignored every sarcastic comment about this being the perfect solution to their problems. So she had shouted instead. Screamed at him to stop.

But he wouldn't listen. And it wound her up further.

It was only as she stopped him from throwing yet another glass against the wall that he turned that rage onto her. Not that she was complaining. Quite the opposite in fact.

He had her pinned against the wall, his body fitting hers in a way that felt oddly right. She gasped in shock. He had moved so fast that she hadn't expected it.

"This better then, sweetheart?" He growled quietly against her ear.

She shivered inevitably, biting back a moan as she felt him against her stomach. Then he kissed her roughly, giving her no time to protest, even if she had wanted to. But she didn't. Instead, she kissed him back in the same brutish manner.

They both needed to feel something, something other than this anger and sorrow that they felt every year.

It wasn't like this was unexpected. Yes they bickered constantly, but it actually made things more bearable.

Portia was part of the prep team in District Twelve and even she had commented more than a handful of times about the degree of tension between them. "It seems you're either going to end up killing each other or sleeping with each other." She had said once with a smile. Well, it seemed the latter was more likely. For the moment, at least.

Effie was making all sorts of unladylike noises as his tongue met hers and his hand slid underneath her skirt. But she couldn't find it in herself to care just right now.

But then there'd been a knock at the door.

It was usual for the peacekeepers to request them to leave the apartment the day after their escorts died. But it seemed they were a little more eager this year. Perhaps it was a blessing. Broke things up before they could get any further.

Both of them hadn't bothered with any awkward goodbyes. They could barely even look at each other.

XXX


End file.
